


Conjuring Up The Past

by Wolves_of_Innistrad



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Kinda, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Time Travel, Young!Chris - Freeform, Young!Derek totally has the hots for Stiles, and stiles isn't complaining, sterek, young!Derek, young!Peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:41:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolves_of_Innistrad/pseuds/Wolves_of_Innistrad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles tries out a spell to learn more about the past of the Nemeton, he inadvertently brings teenaged versions of Derek, Peter and Chris into the present.  How will he deal with a younger, emotionally undamaged Derek?  Can he get them home?  Why is Peter spending so much time with his younger self?  And how will young Chris react to his future self's truce with the monsters he's sworn to fight?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome To The New Age

                “STILES!!!” Derek bellows from upstairs, stomping loudly with each footfall.

                "Uh, yeah?” Stiles shrugs, gulping as he tries to mentally prepare for the verbal tongue lashing he’s about to get.  Over what, he’s not quite sure, but let’s be honest, he probably deserves it.   The sight Stiles sees when Derek reaches the bottom of the stairs though is something he couldn’t have expected.  Standing next to Derek, or, more accurately, being held up by the scruff of his neck, is what looks like a younger version of Derek.  A much younger version, like, maybe younger than Stiles himself.  “Bu whuh?”

                “My thoughts exactly,” Derek deadpans with a quirk of his neck, fangs bared and eyes blue.  “What did you do Stiles?”  Marching up to him, practically dragging his younger version, Derek stops a few feet away.  Still very much within claw slashing territory Stiles thinks nervously.

                “Well, you see what happened was…” Stiles equivocates.

                “Get to the point.”

                “I was just trying to do this spell to learn more about the past!  I thought it would help us figure out more about the Nemeton.”

                “Then why is what appears to be a 16 year old version of me standing next to me?”

                “Unintended side effect?” Stiles chances, glancing from young Derek to normal Derek.

                “Can I be let go, you big creep?” Young Derek finally says, struggling until he wrests himself from Derek’s grasp.

                “This is surreal,” Stiles states blandly, still staring at Young Derek.

                “Tell me about it,” the younger version says, rubbing his neck.  Then, in the blink of an eye, his whole personality shifts, from annoyed and upset, to charming and cool.  Offering a hand, he grins mischievously, “Hey, I’m Derek, and you are?”

                "I, well, um, I’m Stiles?” he stammers, taking his hand.

                “What’s a Stiles?” Young Derek asks, but before Stiles can comment on how unbearably similar they are, even a decade apart, Derek speaks again.  “Because I’d love to find out.”  And then he winks at Stiles, honest to God winks.

                With a loud groan Derek turns on his heel, “get him **out of here**!”

                “How?  I’m not even sure how he got _here_?” Stiles shoots back.

                “I don’t care, but I’m not reliving puberty from the third person.”

                “Puberty’s going to be good to me, huh?” younger Derek says, sharing a conspiratorial eyebrow raise with Stiles, and oh, wow.  He’s totally flirting with me, Stiles realizes. 

                “You’re kind of a jerk.”

                “A _hot_ jerk,” Young Derek protests.

                “Whatever.”

                “You totally want to bone him.  I mean me.”

                “ **N-no**!”

                “Yeah right, everyone wants me. “

                “I’m not even sure how to answer that statement, so I’m choosing to completely ignore it.”

                “Ok, _Stiiiiles_ …” he says, drawing out his name, and shit if that isn’t doing things to Stiles.  It’s not like he hasn’t noticed lately that he’s attracted to Derek.  That had been a difficult thing to process, but he’d gotten through it.  Unattainable crushes wasn’t anything new to Stiles.  But this?  This was just unfair, taunting him with a younger version of Derek, his own age and not filled with the multifarious emotional problems of the Derek he knew.  In fact, Derek flirts the entire ride to Stiles' house, leaving him a blubbering, blushing mess.  Stiles Stilinski is not used to being hit on, less so by teenaged versions of his current werewolf crush.

                “Dad!  You home?” Stiles shouts as they walk into the house, dropping his backpack by the door.  A din rises from the kitchen and Stiles and Derek rush to investigate.  “Dad, really?”

                “It was just one BLT,” his father practically whines, dabbing at a stray blotch of sauce on his lips. 

                “Ok, well, anyway, dad, Derek, Derek, my dad.”

                “Derek?” the sheriff says, skeptical gaze lingering on Derek.

                Stiles just waves the question away, muttering something about unexpected consequences and stupid growly werewolves not going through secondhand puberty reduxes.

                “It’s nice to meet you sir,” Derek says, offering a hand and a kind smile to the sheriff.

                “Well, he definitely has better manners than our Derek,” his father concedes, shaking his hand, “Nice to meet you son.”

                “Ok, well, we’re going to go up to my room now,” Stiles inserts, herding Derek towards the stairs.

                “Um, Stiles, come back here a second…” his father begins, waving him back.

                “Go ahead without me,” Stiles offers to Derek, watching the young wolf bound up the stairs, likely following his scent to get to his room.   “Yeah dad?”

                “Keep the door open,” his dad says flatly, to which Stiles flails, turning scarlet.

                “What?  What do you think is happening here?”

                “Son, I know how you feel about Derek.  I’d assumed I didn’t have to worry though since he’s, well, Derek.  And also very much older than you.  But him?” he points up to the ceiling, “he’s your age and clearly much more of a charmer than our Derek.  So.  Door open.”

                “Fine,” Stiles concedes, leaving in a huff.

                A ringing laugh greets his ears as he enters his room, one he’s never heard before.  Quickly it becomes apparent it’s Derek.  Derek, who’s rolling on his bed, laughing his head off.  It’s simultaneously one of the greatest and worst things Stiles has ever experienced, because seeing Derek like this, completely carefree and happy, is both heartwarming and heartbreaking.

                "So, guess you used your werewolf hearing and heard all that, huh?”

                "Don’t worry, I won’t defile you… not yet anyway,” Derek says, and his eyes flash bright gold.

                And that?  Well that pretty much just fries Stiles’ brain.  He trips, watching as the ground rises up to meet him, and then, well, it doesn’t.  Turning his head, he finds himself staring directly into those honey eyes.

                “I’ve got you,” Derek says, and, well, any chance Stiles had of not being completely enamored with Young Derek just went right out the window.

**********  


                As the last rays of the afternoon sun drift in, Scott barges through the door, face a mixture of surprise and puppy-like happiness.  He looks from Young Derek to Stiles and back, then sniffs the air cautiously.

                “Why does it smell like Derek when Derek isn’t here?” Scott asks, bewildered.

                “Well, you see Scott,” Stiles begins, before being cut off by Derek.

                “Hello, I’m Derek.  Well, a younger version of the Derek you know apparently,” he says, finally breaking his gaze from the games he’s been obsessed with for the last two hours.  Apparently jumping ahead ten years time in videogame technology is just as big a deal to this Derek as it would be to Stiles.  Scott just stares, still confused.  “Hey, you’re a wolf too!” Derek brightens at that, getting up and greeting Scott.

                “Yeah, I’m the Alpha,” Scott says proudly.

                “Yeah, sure,” Derek laughs.

                “I am!” Scott protests, flashing his eyes red.

                “Whoa!  You’re an Alpha this young?  That’s so cool!”

                “Uh, thanks?”

                Stiles breathes a sigh of relief when Derek doesn’t push that subject any further.  He cannot be the one to tell Derek what happens to his family.  Or all three of his future girlfriends.  “Hey, yeah what’s with that?” Stiles accidentally says out loud, drawing their attention.  “Uh, sorry, nothing.”  Scott and Derek go back to playing their game, bonding, and Stiles just wonders why Young Derek seems to be attracted to him, and guys, when their Derek certainly isn’t.

                From there things go fairly well for the most part.  The sheriff agrees to let Young Derek stay until Stiles can figure a way to get him back to his time.  They order a pizza which gets devoured, and it occurs to Stiles that Scott’s eating habits are not exclusive to him, but likely indicative of all teenaged werewolves.  Isaac shows up and, like Scott, and, he’ll begrudgingly admit, himself, instantly takes to Young Derek.   Derek sends him texts threatening him, but he’s honestly not worried about Young Derek staying, just until tomorrow.  It’ll be fine.

**********  


                Across town, Derek sits in his loft, trying desperately not to have a breakdown.  It’s not that he isn’t over it all, the trauma conga line that has been his life as Stiles once put it when he though Derek couldn’t hear, because he is.  He is over it.  It’s just, seeing himself, his younger self, reminded him what he was like back then, before Erica and Boyd, before the fire, even before Paige.  All that youthful promise, the easy smile.  If it really is him, which, knowing Stiles, it probably is, then coming to the future didn’t change anything, they all still die, because of Derek.

                A commotion downstairs pulls him back from his thoughts, and he thinks it better be Stiles with a way to send his younger self back.  Derek’s life is never that easy.  Instead he sees Peter… and Peter.

                “Look who I’ve spent the day with,” Peter says dryly, patting himself on the back.  He actually pat himself on the back, Derek thinks, he really is conceited.

                “You too?” is all Derek can manage, forehead creasing in frustration as he whips out his phone and starts dialing.

                “Me too?” Peter questions, looking at himself, then back at Derek.

                “Stiles!  How many of us did you involve in this spell?!”  He waits for Stiles to answer, only getting progressively angrier.  “3 of your elders?  What does that even mean?  And since when am I an elder?!”

                Peter, or rather, both Peters, chuckle at Derek’s outburst, the younger one moving to sit on the couch.

                “Well you better fix it Stiles!  So, ok, Peter and me, but who was the third one?”  Derek pauses for a moment before turning a sickly color.  The phone crunches between his fingers as he gets off.

                “So who is our third young man?” Peter inquires, voice calm and silky smooth.

                “Argent.” Derek grits out, eyes an electric blue.

                At that, Peter’s eyes mirror Derek’s as a snarl erupts from his throat.  Young Peter, for his part, flinches a little, taking in their anger and partial wolf forms.  Bleakly he wonders when he and his nephew became murderers.


	2. Nous Voyons Des Gens Pas Comme Elles Sont, Mais Comme Nous Sommes

                “So I may have screwed up worse than I thought,” Stiles says, scrubbing a hand over his face.  

                “Hmm?” Scott asks, raising his head and staring lazily up at Stiles.  Scott, Isaac and Derek have taken to lounging around in a pile of teenaged limbs on his floor, dozing after roughhousing.  And roughhousing it was, Stiles having to force them outside when the wolves nearly flew through a window on an errant throw.

                “So Derek here isn’t the only time traveler here…”

                “Ooh, did you get Marty McFly too?” Derek asks, shaking himself loose from the pile and standing up.

                “Um, I, no?” Stiles mutters, giving him a confused look.  “Actually, it’s, uh, Peter?  And, if my luck is as bad as I think it is, Chris Argent.”

                At that a flurry of activity happens.  Scott and Isaac both jump up, incensed, whereas Derek looks positively joyous.  Side-eyeing the other boys, Derek runs towards Stiles, crashing ij front of him.  “Peter’s here!  Oh that is so great!  At least I’ll have family here.  Well, family from my time anyway.  Hey, that reminds me, where are Laura, and my mom?”

                “Well Peter-“ Scott begins, Derek’s head swiveling to look at him.  Stiles gives Scott a death glare, leveling their years of friendship into a _if you dare tell this poor, puppy version of Derek his entire family is dead I will end you_ look.  “Yikes!”  Scott shrinks away, miming zipping his mouth.

                “Hey!  Is there something you aren’t telling me?” Derek asks, turning back towards Stiles, eyes a brilliant gold.

                “Well there certainly isn’t anything that we wouldn’t want your older self to know that you don’t know.  At least, if we didn’t know that your older self didn’t know that you didn’t know that we didn’t tell you what he didn’t already know you didn’t know,” Stiles rambles quickly, keeping his heart steady.

                Derek just gives him the same head cocked, eyebrows raised expression his future self does.  Then he cracks a smile, huge and enveloping.  “You’re funny Stiles, I like you!” he says, grabbing Stiles and puting him in a headlock.

                “Ahh!  Tender human flesh here!  I bruise like a peach, ask Scott!”

                “I can think of some fun uses of that ability,” Derek whispers and Scott and Isaac balk.

                “How about we leave you two lovebirds here?  You know, before Derek rips your clothes off and mates you,” Isaac deadpans, winking at Scott.  

                Stiles means to answer, to give a retort, but Derek beats him to it.  “Yeah, you should leave.  You don’t want to hear the sounds I’m going to draw from these pretty lips,” Derek teases, putting one finger over Stiles lips in a hushing gesture.  

                Scott and Isaac both laugh nervously, then realize, Stiles assumes, that Derek was not lying and quickly vacate the room.  “We’ll be downstairs with the TV turned sky high!”  Scott shouts, taking the stairs two at a time, he’s sure.

                “Traitors!  Cowards!  Mutts!” Stiles screams in retaliation.  The room is silent then, the only noise the raucous sounds of Scott and Isaac watching some action movie downstairs.   Stiles coughs a bit, scooting away from Derek, who only scoots closer in return.  “So, um, you, uh, you weren’t kidding about that stuff were you?”

                “About what I was going to do to you?” Derek asks, moving in, lips only inches from Stiles ear, causing his breath to hitch.  

                “Y-yeah…  That.”

                “I was lying,” Derek says under his breath, then, moving one hand to Stiles’ knee, “unless you don’t want me to be.”

                “Oh my God!” Stiles huffs out, bolting up.  “I just, um, I need to take a shower and go to bed, alright.”

                “Stiles, are you offering to shower with me?”

                “No!”

                “You sure?  I mean, aren’t you in sports?  Should be used to showering with boys by now.”

                “You!  I!  Just, no.  No!  bad teen wolf!  Stop teasing me!”

                “You’re the tease, with those full lips, and those insane fingers and...” Derek stands, hands ghosting over Stiles’ face, reaching around behind his head and fisting in his hair, “that big, beautiful…”

                “Wh-what?”

                Derek looks down, eyeing Stiles’ growing erection with curiosity, before bending his face to the side.  “Brain,” he whispers, and Stiles’ whole body shivers.

                “Shit!”  Stiles yells, escaping to the bathroom.  

                “Don’t forget to turn the water on high.  Werewolf hearing and all!”  At that Derek hears a crashing noise as Stiles undoubtly spazzes into everything, flailing from his comment.  Smiling, he goes back to playing the game he was earlier.

**********  


                “Ok, ok,” Stiles says, more to himself than Derek as he walks back into the room.

                “Time for bed?” Derek asks, standing up and stretching.  In doing so, his t-shirt rides up, just a hint of his toned stomach peeking out.  

                “You, uh, need something to wear to sleep?” 

                “Nah,” Derek says, grinning before pulling off his shirt slowly.  Stiles nearly faints because this really can’t be his life right now.  Young Derek isn’t nearly as ripped as his Derek, but still, nothing Stiles isn’t eager to drink in.  Before Stiles has catalogued that mental image to his liking, Derek begins unbuckling his pants.

                “Whoa, whoa buddy!  What are you doing?  You can’t!  We’re not!” he says hastily, flailing his arms wildly.

                “What?  I sleep in my underwear,” Derek says nonchalantly, but then grins, assuring Stiles that he is the worst werewolf ever.  Peter, Deucalion?  Nope, not holding a candle to the stupidly adorable (and hot) werewolf currently teasing the crap out of Stiles.  Clad only in tight, white briefs, Stiles can’t look away from him.  Derek just looks down at himself then back at Stiles, wicked smile splitting his lips.

                “Ok, ok, goodnight Derek,” Stiles grits out, forcefully removing himself from the situation, getting into bed and turning the other way.

                If Stiles has a nightmare and Derek crawls into bed with him, holding him until it’s over, well, no one else has to know that.

**********  


                “Where am I!?” he screams, spinning around, taking in his surroundings.   The air is stale, lighting too harsh, too bright.  He grasps for his gun, his blade, but can’t find either.  Hands fumble searching again, before he hears a noise and his gaze travels upwards, resting on a girl at the top of the staircase.  

                “Looking for these?” she asks, casually spinning the gun on her finger, knife resting comfortably in her other hand.

                Glaring, he takes a step forward, “those aren’t toys little girl.”

                “I know,” she says, before she flings the knife swiftly, catching the hem of his sleeve and pinioning him to the wall.  “It’s a handgun.  In fact, a very special handgun.  You see these markings here?  It’s-“

                “The Argent crest.  Don’t mock me.”

                “So if you know what this is, why do you have it?  Surely you’d realize breaking into the Argent’s house with a gun stolen from them was a poor life choice,” Allison says, voice droll and calm as she steps into the light.

                “It’s mine!  My father gave it to me.  I forged the Silver bullets in it myself.”

                Taking another step down, Allison stares at him, gaze penetrating, looking for any signs of distress, of a lie.  “But you can’t have…  These are for Argent’s only."

                “Yeah, Chris Argent, at your service,” Chris says blandly, getting a shock from the girl.  Sensing her confusion, he chooses that moment to tear free, ripping his sleeve off and smacking the gun from her hand.  Just as quickly as he’s disarmed her, Allison has him on the ground, arm locked behind his back.  

                “No, that can’t be!” She grits out, using her leverage to restrain him

                “Oh yeah, and why’s that?”

                “Because Chris Argent is my _father_ …”

                That stops him.  Settling down, Allison rapidly gathers the gun and knife before retreating up the stairs.  “ **Stay here**.”

                Chris stands, popping his shoulder into its socket with a jarring sound.  Testing it out, he glances around again before hearing footsteps heading towards the stairs.  The thought crosses his mind to try to fight, contemplates fashioning a weapon and making  his escape.  Chris doesn’t though, just stands there, waiting, intrigued by what this girl said, even if its lunacy.  There isn’t another Chris Argent, so there’s no way that could be her father’s name.  

                The door swings open, bright light flowing in before being blocked out by two bodies descending.  “Hello there,” the older man says, approaching him, “I’m Chris Argent."

                “No you aren’t, I’m Chris Argent,” the younger man says, not taking the offered hand.

                Chris, the adult Chris, looks to Allison, who seems just as perplexed.  “Ok, quick test.  Argent code, name of your sister, and my, Chris Argent’s, first kiss.”

                “ _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent,_ Kate Argent, and Valerie Stark.”

                “Sorry there buddy, wrong answers,” the elder Chris says, pulling a gun from behind his back and aiming it at the man.

                “That was all true!  Unless…” Chris curses under his breath before turning back to them.  “Mickey Jamison!”

                Allison looks unimpressed, but Chris drops the gun, stunned.  “Dad, what’s wrong, who’s Mickey Jamison?”

                “The first person I kissed.  The _real_ first person I kissed,” he confirms, quizzical look trained on the younger man.

                “You kissed a boy?” Allison asks, surprised by this new information.  Both Chris’ ignore her though, instead circling each other.

                Chris takes the younger man’s face in his hand, turning it from side to side.  “It’s me.  It’s me when I was, what, 18?”

                “Yeah, I’m 18… Wait, are you saying you’re me?  But, old?”

                Allison snickers at that, receiving a glare from her father. “More mature,” he answers.

                “Old,” Young Chris coughs, eliciting a laugh from Allison.

                “I don’t remember being a lil’ shit when I was this age…”

                “Maybe you, I, have Alzheimer’s,” and that’s what gets him punched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little later than promised, but it's here! Sorry, couldn't resist a bit more Stiles/Y!D flirting, it's my new favorite thing. And we meet (sorta) Young!Chris!
> 
> Thanks as always to my Wonderful Readers for the subs, comments and kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> Don't even say it, I'm addicted to Wips. I have like 6 right now I know. But this idea was too good to pass up after seeing Young!Chris last week and my prior love of Young!Derek fics. Not rated because I honestly have no idea where this fic might go in some aspects.
> 
> As always, thanks to my Wonderful Readers for the comments, subs and kudos! They really keep me going and usually determine which Wip I work on for a while.
> 
> Come chill with me at wolvesofinnistrad.tumblr.com


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